


The Good Life (And How Kurt Lives It)

by TheTragicMalady



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Cum Swallowing, Domestic, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, M/M, Rimming, Spanking, bottom!Kurt, just the briefest hint of oral sex, really anything goes when it comes to these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTragicMalady/pseuds/TheTragicMalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt loved his life. He loved being able to go shopping with Quinnie and the girls for new dresses and not having to worry about the financial ramifications if he decided to purchase a couple of new pumps to go with his finery. He loved being able to wake up late and getting to curl up on his husband’s side of the bed, just inhaling the spicy scent of his designer cologne. He loved his kind, clever, and devilishly handsome husband. He loved having the freedom to try out as many recipes as he wanted, until he found the one that suited his and Blaine’s tastes best. He loved his uncalloused, silky soft hands. He loved watching the telly as he cleaned, he loved his brand new Frigidaire, he loved his piano room, and he loved his personal walk in closet. Kurt Anderson positively loved his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Enough to Eat

 

Kurt loved his life. He loved being able to go shopping with Quinnie and the girls for new dresses and not having to worry about the financial ramifications if he decided to purchase a couple pairs of new pumps to go with his finery. He loved being able to wake up late and getting to curl up on his husband’s side of the bed, just inhaling the spicy scent of his designer cologne. He loved his kind, clever, and devilishly handsome husband. He loved having the freedom to try out as many recipes as he wanted, until he found the one that suited his and Blaine’s tastes best. He loved his uncalloused, silky soft hands. He loved watching the telly as he cleaned, he loved his brand new Frigidaire, he loved his piano room, and he loved his personal walk in closet. Kurt Anderson positively loved his life.

The old, heirloom grandfather clock in the front room struck one and a telephone began ringing in the Anderson household at 286 Pleasant Forest Ave. Westerville, Ohio. The sole occupant of the house rushed breathlessly for it, smoothing down his skirt and hastily setting the feather duster he had been brandishing aside.

“Hello?” Kurt answered, collapsing weightlessly on the comfortable light brown sofa.

“Hi there, beautiful.” Blaine’s smooth voice flowed into Kurt’s ear, instantly relaxing his slightly tense posture, “How are you, today?”

Blaine liked to call him to check in whenever he had a break at work. Sometimes, they’d talk about whatever Kurt was planning to make for dinner, and sometimes Blaine would just request that Kurt leave the phone off the hook so that he could hear the various goings-on of Kurt’s day.

“Better, now that you’ve given me a ring.” He purred.

Blaine chuckled at that, “I thought I’d given you a ring three years ago.”

Kurt’s tinkling laugh traveled through the lines, “You’re so cheesy, dear.”

“But you love me.” There was unwavering certainty in his voice.

“That I do.” An easy silence, then. “Did you need something? I can call up a taxi so-”

“No, no, no, love dove. I just called to let you know that I was thinking about you, sitting in that big ol’ mansion all by your lonesome, day in and day out.”

“Blaine, it-”                                              

“I wasn’t finished speaking, Kurt. It was incredibly rude for you to interrupt me.”

Kurt bit his lip briefly before apologizing, “I’m sorry.”

An uneasy silence this time.

“I’m cooking your favorite tonight: my grandmother’s pot roast along with my famous garlic mashed potatoes.”

More quiet crackled loudly into Kurt’s ear from the receiver.

“And I even have the makings of a lemon custard in the fridge and a couple of pie shells already pressed in the freezer if you’d like. I know you like a cool slice of lemon custard on fall days like this, dear.”

Kurt squirmed on the sofa for a few more seemingly endless moments before Blaine’s smooth tenor resumed, his tone smooth and collected, as though Kurt’s disruption had not occurred.

“I was thinking of getting Finn to check up on you whenever he’s in the neighborhood. Or purchasing a Yorkie or some other lapdog to keep you company and protect you when I’m not at home.”

He winced at that. Finn, bless him, was a klutz at best and a catastrophe at worst. Every time he entered their spacious household, he ended up either: a. breaking something or b. making an absolute mess of his typically spotless kitchen and/or dining room. Sometimes both. Kurt loved his brother, don’t get him wrong, but he’d rather a shitting, shedding monster that chewed on his nearly priceless, definitely irreplaceable shoe collection than be subjected to Finn’s presence in his neat, orderly space. The dog could probably be trained to go outside, whereas Finn had been missing the bowl since being potty trained at age 5 (“I started off really short, dude, and I thought that thing wanted to suck my wee wee down into its throat!”).

He wanted neither a babysitter nor a baby beast, but he knew that voice. It was Blaine Anderson’s patented I-Know-What’s-Best-And-You’ll-Listen-To-My-Decisions-Whether-You-Like-It-Or-Not-Kurt-Anderson voice, which pretty much guaranteed that he’d have trouble on his hands, either supersized or pint sized within the next week or so. Unless…

“Do you really think I need it? I mean, this gorgeous house you bought me is practically palatial and no one would dare try to break in with the knowledge of who lives here. Plus our drive is nearly a quarter mile long; I’d see an intruder _hours_ before he even got close to our front door.”

“But, Kurtiekins, I want my beautiful little wife safe. I worry about you, you know that, and I’d have more peace of mind if you would just do this for me, without all the backtalk you usually give me when I try to help you. Wouldn’t you feel safer if your big brother was there if you ever needed him?”

Kurt grumbled a bit, conceding that Finn’s large size had indeed come to his advantage many a time, like when his first boyfriend, a slimy lowlife by the name of Karofsky, had been treating him terribly after he’d begun that affair with an arrogant, self-important prick named Gavroche. Finn would never hurt a fly, but Dave certainly hadn’t known that when he’d peered out of the window to his car, which was parked at the top of Winsaw Mountain, to see Finn cracking his knuckles like a hired thug he’d seen in a movie. Dave pulled away from his little whore so quickly that Gavroche had sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh of his cock. He’d limped away from _that_ situation sorry that he’d messed with Kurt Hummel.

But, Kurt still had a bad feeling about the whole situation. Almost like deja-vu. Then he realized, this was how Quinnie’s first marriage had ended. Puckerman had begun ordering Quinn, called Lucy then, to stay at home, with a man he hired to watch the house and make sure she never left, with few exceptions. He’d called it just a precaution, since they had lived in a not-so-nice neighborhood on his meager pool cleaner’s salary, but then he blamed her for having to waste the small portion of his wages that he didn’t spend on the drink on a man she could probably pay herself by fucking. He would accuse her of cheating, then mock her for the less than svelte figure she’d gained after having their first and only child, a pleasant little blonde angel named Bethany. The situation grew worse and worse until Quinn, packing their tiny bags, left for her mother’s house after learning from a jilted lover that Noah had been sleeping with all of his female clients. Arriving there to her smug, anti-Semitic mother’s comments (“Really, Lucille, that’s what you get for trying to civilize one of those people. You’re simply lucky that your daughter didn’t come out with a beak!”), Quinn lost weight, bought some Clairol to bleach her hair blonde, and underwent a “lifesaving” surgery to correct her own misshapen nose, then packed Beth and their belongings into the car of one Jesse St. James eight months later, after an ivory wedding.

“Do you trust me?” Kurt inquired quietly.

He’d gotten closer than he wanted to an unhappy, rocky marriage when he’d decided against everyone else’s judgment to date David Karofsky, and he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his marital bliss just yet. Or ever, really.

“Of course I do, darling. Whatever gave you the impression that I didn’t?”

To Kurt’s intense relief, Blaine sounded genuinely surprised at the question.

“I just thought that I’d only need a babysitter if you didn’t trust me or thought that I was going behind your back with someone.”

“I would never believe that you were sleeping with someone besides myself. It’s silly to even think of that.”

Kurt tried hard not to be insulted at the laughter obvious in his husband’s voice and just focused on the sweet feelings of trust that were flowing through him at the moment.

“Not that I don’t think you’re attractive. I think you’re absolutely stunning-“Blaine paused, and then lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “in clothes and out of them.”

Kurt gasped at his bold words. They’d never talked…dirty…on the phone before or anything resembling the statement Blaine had made previously.

“Really?” Kurt asked shyly. He knew how Blaine felt, but sometimes it was nice to hear it aloud.

“You know I do. Your skin is so pretty, all porcelain and rose blushes when I flatter or embarrass you. I bet your gorgeous cheeks are lit up all red, right now, aren’t they? And your eyelashes are so long that I know the girls have to be jealous. And your figure? God, Kurt, you’re so slim but still shapely at the same time. Your silhouette would make models weep with envy.” Blaine’s voice dipped back into its lower register, “But it’s your ass that really amazes me, every single time. It’s so round and firm, but still so soft and plump at the same time. I could bite and nibble at it all day. And what’s between those two perfect globes? That’s a national treasure. Don’t laugh Kurt; it’s true! Your hole is such a delicate pink and always so tight and delicious when I’m thrusting inside you, be it my tongue or my cock.”

“Oh, Blaine.” Kurt sighed, heat flooding his face for an entirely different reason this time.

“Kurt, baby, you get me so hot, no matter what you’re doing. You can be chopping up onions, watching Julia Childs and I’ll have the urge to just lift up your skirt, push you against a counter, and- yes yes, come right on in. Take a seat.”

He pouted at that. No fair that Blaine had to do work. Stupid people needing to give him presentations or whatever. Couldn’t they see that he was occupied with his gorgeous, sexy, stunning, desirable wife? Whoever it was could have just shoved his papers under the door or something. Inconsiderate asshole.

“ _Excuse me_?” Blaine barked into the phone incredulously.

Oh fuck! Kurt must have said that last part aloud.

“Not you, dear. I was complaining about whichever insubordinate peon you currently have in your office.”

“You’d better have been. Listen, I’ve got work to do, but I’ll be home at my usual time, maybe a little earlier if _Foxglove hurries setting up his media_. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Tell Satan I said hello, would you?”

Santana Lopez worked in the office adjacent to Blaine’s and often dined with the Andersons, since her wife, Brittany Lopez, was one of the “Unholy Trinity”, as Quinnie had dubbed the trio of herself, Brittany, and Kurt.

“Will do. Goodbye, love muffin.” Blaine crooned.

“Goodbye, studly poo.” Kurt responded, a lovesick grin on his face as he gently pressed the phone onto its cradle.

The sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door caused a Pavlonian response in Kurt. His mouth started salivating and his stretched and lubricated hole clenched down on nothing, wishing it were Blaine’s thick cock instead.

“Kurtsie?” Blaine called playfully from the front hall, where he was surely placing his hat and coat in the closet and laying his briefcase on the table next to the umbrellas. “Where, oh, where is my darling little Kurtsie?”

Kurt giggled to himself. Even after roughly 1,279 days of marriage (Kurt’s not counting. It’s just an estimate. Really.), that little greeting never got old.

“Here I am!” Kurt called, sticking his head out of the kitchen’s swinging door- though not before quickly checking his hair and face in the mirror placed on the kitchen’s side for that exclusive purpose.

“Here you are.” It left Blaine’s lips as little more than a sigh.

He had the same hearts in his eyes that he’d had both when he proposed and when he’d first properly set sights on Kurt after knocking on his front door to return a scarf Kurt had lost and he had found at the park. Kurt had answered the door breathlessly, distracted by his step-mother Carole, and nearly fainted at the easy grin of the handsome stranger who had licked his lips and said sincerely as he gazed into Kurt’s blue-green eyes, “There you are. I’ve been looking for you forever!”. Kurt’s parents hadn’t approved very much, what with Blaine being 4 and a half years older than Kurt, but they’d eventually given their blessings and accepted him as one of their own, unlike Kurt’s step-sister-in-law, Rachel.

The woman was shrill, self-centered and, as Quinn’s mother would be quick to point out, as Jewish as they came. To be a person of such small stature (Kurt, Burt, Carole, Finn, and Blaine easily dwarfed her in their annual Christmas photos, even with her stepladder) she made a lot of noise and was far more ambitious than was generally acceptable for a person who was destined to take the more subservient, wife role. But his huge goof of a brother loved her on their good days, and that was more than enough for Kurt to tolerate her, though he’d sooner allow Finn to tap dance within a twelve foot vicinity of his fine bone china than let her tag along on one of his shopping trips with the girls as she was wont to force Finn to beg Kurt to do. As a side note, it wasn’t only that Rachel had bad taste – honestly, what adult owns a kitten sweater/skirt combo?- that kept Kurt from inviting the woman to follow him, it was the Berry-Hudson’s (their sleepy town was still aflutter at the scandal of a hyphenated name) financial situation. Finn, like Kurt’s father, worked with automobiles, but Finn, unlike his father, did not own a chain of Hummel Tire and Lube stores. Finn worked as a tow truck driver for the store closest to the Hummel home, which meant three to five dollars more than the minimum wage, which meant that Rachel, unlike Quinnie, whose husband was a famous retired Broadway star turned playwright, Kurt and Brittany, whose husbands were a high powered advertising executive and attorney, respectively, did not have the funds necessary to go on their bi-weekly shopping sprees.

In the time it had taken for Kurt to get lost in his thoughts, Blaine had approached him and wrapped him in his arms. Kurt brought his arms up to wrap around Blaine’s neck, tucking his face into the space where his shoulder and neck met, and sighed happily. This was where he truly belonged.

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?”  Blaine questioned, after holding his soft wife for a few minutes.

“Nothing. Just daydreaming.” Kurt answered, savoring the traces of masculine cologne and Blaine on his skin.

He wondered.

Delicately, slowly, Kurt stuck his moist, pink tongue out and licked a stripe up the olive skin of Blaine’s neck, swirling it around the prominent moving bump of his husband’s adam’s apple. The skin was just as tangy and salty and delightful as Kurt had first thought.

“Oh, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice wavered with arousal. He was probably ready for Round 1. Goodness knew Kurt was.

“Yes, dear?” Kurt drawled back sultrily, backing up a few inches to not quite look his husband in the eye, lowering his lashes demurely.

Blaine’s hands slipped down the silky material of his blouse to the less luxurious feeling cotton of his narrow pencil skirt to rest on his pert bum. He cupped it, kneading it, and forcing his burgeoning erection into Kurt’s hip as he spoke:

“Go into the dining room and take all the place settings off the table. I don’t give a damn where you put them, just make sure they’re out of the way. Then, make sure the food’ll hold until I’m ready to eat. And after you’ve made sure that’s all done? Bend over the table, with your heels on. I’ll join you shortly.”

Kurt smiled and turned instantly, pivoting back with a blush as Blaine smacked his ass to send him on his way.

Kurt knew he made a pretty picture bent over and stretched out for Blaine’s pleasure, but it always felt good to hear his movie star handsome husband say it.

“You look good enough to eat, baby boy.”

Blaine was behind him, shoes off, tie loosened, weighty cock in one hand, petting the luscious curve of Kurt’s ass with the other. He ran his hands around the sides of the skirt, letting out a small noise of celebration when he saw that the zipper ran along the same line as the split between Kurt’s legs.

“I could almost skip dinner, honey.” Blaine started conversationally, still lazily stroking himself, now lowering the zip to the skirt inch by inch.

Kurt had decided to be adventurous by going commando, and was rewarded with a chaste kiss to his tailbone. Every four inches or so, Blaine would pause in his lowering and stroking to bestow a kiss on the newly revealed patch of soft, peachy flesh, until the skirt dropped of its own accord, unfastened to Kurt’s lithe frame. The way his legs were parted, legs shoulder width apart, it didn’t fall far and only succeeded in limiting Kurt’s movement. But Blaine couldn’t care less about the skirt. Instead, he was focused on the shiny, dusky pink hole that was practically winking at him.

“I was going to suggest eating you out, lovely, but I see you’ve already prepared yourself for me. Did my little slut miss having my cock in his hole so much that he had to play with himself to take the edge off?”

He punctuated his sentence with a swift lick to the tantalizing sight before him, replacing his tongue with a thick fingertip that circled Kurt’s rim with too little pressure to penetrate so that he could resume speaking.

“Strawberry, my favorite. So, did you, pretty whore? Did you use that toy the Lopezes gave you? The one that’s as big as me and vibrates? Or could you not wait, and just shoved your long, slim fingers in there, since you wanted to feel full so badly?”

As far as Kurt could tell, the questions were rhetoric, since the words passed his ears as little more than babble, especially when Blaine sealed his lips around his hole and thrust his tongue in, lapping at the mingled taste of strawberry and Kurt.  Kurt arched his back and whined, gripping the sides of the table as though holding on for dear life. Blaine’s fingers came back into play, grabbing hold of Kurt’s left ass check, then smacking the pale flesh. He took a panting breath, centimeters away from Kurt’s entrance.

“Stay still, little slut, I’m trying to give you what you want.”

A few more smacks to the innocent ass cheek as his fingers left his cock to probe Kurt’s lubed up ass.

“You’re such a naughty boy when we’re at home, aren’t you? You lick me, thrust against me, rub on me, trying to get me to fuck you all the time, and now you’re getting what you need: my dick in this tight ass. You want that, don’t you? Me to just push inside of you and stretch your ass out like it was made for me? Because this ass _was_ made for me.”

Kurt’s hand shot out to grip the back of Blaine’s head, where the stiff curls had been loosed from his hair gel’s firm hold. His slender cream fingers burrowed themselves into the silky black hair beneath the top layer, urging Blaine’s face back to his wanting asshole.

The prep must have been satisfactory enough, since Blaine stood. He had not taken down his pants, nor his or Kurt’s shirt in his haste, just as he had forgotten the tube of slick, so he simply spat in one palm and held one hand out for Kurt to lick in the place of lube.

He rubbed both hands on his cock, then used each hand to part the globes of Kurt’s perfect ass to reveal the spit slick, slightly reddened entrance as he made his way slowly into his beautiful, fuckable wife.

 _Mine_.

Once he bottomed out in the so tight so warm heat of his Kurt, Blaine held no quarter, slamming in and out of this perfect person with gusto. Kurt, for his part, merely held on for the ride, crying out and moaning as tears popped into his eyes at how quickly his orgasm was approaching. Blaine nailed his prostate repeatedly, dragging his entire length along the sensitive gland over and over, pushing Kurt closer to the edge.

“Blainey!” Kurt burst out, “I need to come. Need to come so bad, Blainey!”

He forcibly removed his hands from the table’s ledges and reached for his leaking hardon, only to have his thin wrists snatched up in one hand by his husband. Kurt grunted in disappointment and received an extra blow to the ass for his troubles.

“If you wanna come, then come, baby. But you’re only going to get off on my cock. The feel of it pounding into you, pushing into your spot,” Blaine leaned down and whispered directly into the shell of Kurt’s ear, “making you mine.”

Kurt came with a whimper, globs of creamy come shooting and then lazily dribbling out of his slit to the shiny hardwood of their dining room floor.

“Ah, fuck, Kurt, that’s so sexy.” Blaine’s frantic thrusts had sped up even more, “Oh, baby, I’m gonna come, too.”

Kurt, who had collapsed onto the table, boneless after his orgasm, quickly perked up again, trying to turn around.

“On my face or in my mouth.” He begged prettily; face flush with desire and pupils blown, “Please. Make me yours. Show everyone. Come on my face.”

Blaine could never resist Kurt’s pleading and rapidly pulled out, hand a blur flying over himself as Kurt situated himself on his knees, mouth parted and striking eyes closed. The first rope landed a few inches above Kurt’s right eye, clinging to his dark eyebrows and lashes, the second and third on either of his cheeks and his cute little button nose, the last of his semen coming to a rest on his cock hungry wife’s little pink tongue and pouty lips.

Blaine heaved as he tried to catch his breath, cock giving a painful twinge as he tried valiantly to get hard at the sinful image Kurt presented. The latter closed his lips, swallowing his mouthful with great relish. He lazily opened his left eye to gaze at Blaine dazedly, as though checking if the coast were clear. Blaine reached down and, with a careful thumb, rubbed the cooling substance into his little love’s skin.

“Baby, you look so good. You look like you just got fucked really well and you loved it. And you did, sweetie. My delightful cockslut took my fucking like a champ and that’s why he looks so tired, isn’t it? My dick wore my precious fuck whore out.”

Kurt nodded, cracking a little smile, “Blaine, please stop. I can’t get hard again that fast.”

“You can. Remember our last anniversary? I fucked you to four different orgasms, not to mention prolonging the first three for nearly five minutes each.”

Kurt tilted his head, careful not to let any of Blaine’s cum fall on his teal top-semen was a bitch to scrub out of most fabrics and silk was not the most forgiving.

“Then I’ll amend that statement. I can’t get hard again right now. I’m too tuckered out.”

“That’s better.” Blaine smiled, bending over to scoop Kurt up into his arms to lie out on the couch. “We can nap for fifteen minutes, but then we have to eat; I’m starved!”

Kurt laughed, grateful for the heating switch on the newly purchased stove that allowed food to stay warm without cooking it all over again, and snuggled into his hubby who had jammed himself in next to Kurt, dreamy hazel eyes closed and plush mouth open, nearly snoring already.


	2. Is It Really Punishment?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Kurt gets really anxious for the D, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt from the glee kink meme here ->http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/30710.html?thread=39094006#t39094006

“Sweetie, hurry up with that lemon custard! My coffee is getting cold.” Blaine called

                He sat upon the light brown armchair that matched Kurt’s beloved couch in the living room where he sat with his files spread out on the ottoman in front of him, scowling down at them as though they had deeply offended him.

 

“I’m coming! I’m coming; keep your trousers on.” Kurt laughed, backing out of the kitchen,  hands occupied by his own cup of coffee-two sugars but no milk- and a ceramic plate with a large slice of the afore mentioned desert.

 

Approaching his (gorgeous, sexy, masculine) husband, Kurt expertly hooked the back of a high heel around the leg of their coffee table and sent it skittering to a stop parallel to the paper covered footstool.

 

“Here you go. It’s nice and chilled, just how you like it.” He bent at the waist and placed it on the table, leaving his heart shaped ass up in the air, hole still shiny with lube, also just the way Blaine liked it.

               

This time, though, Blaine paid no attention.

 

 Blaine constantly bringing his work home had been a point of frustration and contention for the couple. Kurt expected Blaine to leave his work at the door in his briefcase, while Blaine believed that the payer of bills in the household had the power to work whenever he chose. Kurt didn’t think it was such a difficult thing to ask, after all, he managed to get all of the daily chores, including dinner, done in the eight hours that they were separated.  Despite Kurt’s (very valid) argument, Blaine persisted in getting in at least a half hour of paperwork every night after dinner. The time period would have been longer, but it only took Kurt so long to do the dishes before he found…other ways to lure Blaine out of his work-induced stupor.

               

Not this time though. He had been parading about in nothing but his highest, sinful black stilettos, and Blaine hadn’t batted one of his needlessly long eyelashes. It was time to pull out the big guns.

 

“Darling?” Kurt slowly stood up and turned to face his husband, an innocently curious look on his pale features, “What are you working so diligently on?”

 

“Nothing too important, lovely.” He glanced up at Kurt for a moment, “Why?”

 

“Oh, no reason, dear.” This was his moment. Insert dramatic sigh as he gracefully collapsed on the arm of Blaine’s chair, “I just wished to know what the piece of paper that takes precedent over me is about.”

 

“There isn’t anything on this earth that is more precious to me than you, Kurtie Pie.” He lifted an arm- but not his head, the distracted idiot- to stroke Kurt’s pale, toned chest reassuringly, “Not one thing.”

 

“Really?” Kurt asked the crinkly curls above Blaine’s left ear winsomely.

 

He thought on it for a moment, then slid one hairless leg between Blaine’s knees. Try to ignore that, Shirley Temple.

 

“Really, baby doll.” He retracted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly with it.

 

Not once during that entire exchange did he look into Kurt’s perfectly pouty face nor did he cotton on to the fact that the chest he was stroking was nude- his favorite way for Kurt to be! He took a few subtle deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before he burst out in anger. Anger was never the way to go with Blaine Anderson. All it got him was an exasperated look and no sex for a few hours. No, this time he’d be stealthier about getting into his husband’s flatteringly cut pants. But how to proceed…?

 

Kurt dipped his head down to purr directly into his love’s ear, “I can rub your shoulders while you work, if you’d like.”

 

Blaine made a noncommittal noise, but it didn’t deter Kurt, who quickly took the opportunity to straddle Blaine’s lap, barely avoiding crushing his papers.

 

“Kurt! What are you-mpff!”

 

He silenced his inattentive husband with a harsh kiss that ended with harsh pants against one another’s lips. Kurt was tired of the talk, he was ready to get fucked now.

 

“My wifely duty, honey.” He drew the last word out, breath streaming past Blaine’s neck hotly as he ground his body down against the newly interested erection below him.

 

Warm, long fingered hands latched onto Kurt’s tiny waist, digging in until pale skin beneath them turned red then white.

 

“Kurt.” Blaine began with his teeth obviously clenched, “I’m trying to get some work done.”

 

His hands didn’t release his lithe wife, though, and Kurt counted it as a win. At this rate, Kurt would have that coveted cock inside him within minutes.

 

“I can see that, sugar bear. But what you should be trying to do, is me.”  Kurt replied with a cheeky grin paired with a subtle arch in his back to draw Blaine’s attention to the pale unblemished perfection of his chest.

 

“No, Kurt; not right now.” He tried to turn away, even beginning to remove his palms from his love’s tempting flesh, but Kurt was having none of it.

 

He clenched Blaine’s wrists in his slim fingers, holding them there.

 

“And why the hell not?!” He asked in a semi-loud voice. Just in case Blaine couldn’t hear him.

 

Thick, overbearing silence filled the cozy looking room. Then-

 

“Did you just raise your voice at me, Kurt Elizabeth Anderson?”

 

If Kurt hadn’t been so worried at that moment, he might have thought: Well, that got his attention.

 

“No, Blainey, I-“

 

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

 

Blaine wasn’t quite glaring at him, but he did look disappointed, which was worse. Kurt tried to be the good, little, obedient housewife that Blaine deserved, but it was so hard. Especially when Blaine wanted him to do something that he didn’t want to, like occupy himself with a mundane task like knitting or folding clothes instead of situating himself as close to his husband as humanly possible. Blaine was such a great person and so sweet to him that he felt guilty spending even half an hour without serving him in something.

 

“I didn’t mean to, honey. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry didn’t do it, Kurt; you did.”

 

And this was the part he really hated. Before he’d moved in with Blaine (6 days after their wedding and as soon as they got home from their honeymoon touring France and Spain), Kurt had never really been punished, aside from a time out or two when he was young. His father, Burt, had always been a soft hand with him; buying him all the toys and pets he could ever wish for, and after the death of his beloved wife, he just didn’t have the heart to punish the beautiful little boy with eyes just like Katherine’s. The first time he’d misbehaved, to use Blaine’s terminology, he was shocked to be put over Blaine’s knee like a naughty child. The offense would have been relatively minor in Burt’s eyes (he’d pitched a fit over the fact that his AmEx Platinum card had a limit of only $10,000 a month), but Blaine had quashed it with no mercy, telling Kurt, in no uncertain terms, that if he were to ever act like that again he would find his card confiscated for a month whilst delivering 20 firm smacks to his backside.

 

“Blainey, I’ll never do it again. I didn’t mean to yell.” Sometimes apologies worked.

 

“I know. Come here, baby.”

 

Blaine gently moved the soft and pliant body in his arms around so Kurt’s legs hung over the side and tucked his head into his neck, stroking the long line of his back as he did so.

 

Blaine just loved Kurt to bits. The moment he’d seen the graceful beauty, he’d known he had to have him, no matter what. The way Kurt looked like an angel straight out of heaven, Blaine had assumed, incorrectly as it were, that Kurt would be the perfect, silent, subservient, submissive wife. Don’t get him wrong, he loved Kurt’s fire and spunk and passion, but compared to the way other husbands treated their wives, Blaine let Kurt run wild. And that was the way they liked it. It was the backtalk and yelling and temper tantrums that he could not abide by.

 

The few rapid fire tears that had managed to squeeze themselves out of Kurt’s eyes were rapidly dried as he clung to Blaine’s silk leisure shirt (42.89 at Barney’s).

 

“Better, precious?” Blaine asked gently as the hiccoughing sighs slowed to a stop.

 

A muffled affirmative and he was gazing into red-rimmed greyish blue eyes. His heart stuttered for a moment at the vulnerable display in front of him, but he had to be firm with his lovely or he’d never learn.

 

“What do you think I should do with you, Kurtsie?” He stroked the smooth, quivering thigh stretched out over his lap. “Do you need a spanking to learn?”

 

The eyes widened a fraction of an inch, lips ready to answer in the negative, before his doll thought better and, hesitantly, nodded. Why Kurt dreaded spankings, Blaine never understood. Sure, there was temporary pain at first, but Kurt got off on a little discomfort. Plus, Blaine usually felt so guilty about it afterwards that he either took him to bed to make him come as much as possible or bought him whatever his heart desired to make up for it. Both turned out as wins for him.

 

Just as he situated Kurt on his lap after their tiny disagreement, he delicately placed the slight man over his padded knee, head buried in the softness of the overstuffed armchair.

 

“You ready? I’m going to give you fifteen, okay?” He rubbed the baby soft skin of Kurt’s toned ass.

 

He took the grunt as Kurt’s approval and landed two medium smacks to the cheek closest to him, leaving a fading handprint.

 

“Now, Kurt, what have I told you about being a wanton little slut, hmm?” He ended his question with three more spanks, alternating sides. “I know you want my big cock, baby boy, but when I-“ he got twin hits on the back of Kurt’s thighs, “say that I need to get work done; I need to get work done.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t care how horny you are, sweetheart.” He peppered four smacks at the top of his peachy bottom, “it’s that I need to be able to work in peace so I can keep this job; your shopping sprees don’t fund themselves, honey.”

 

Three harder pops on the reddening skin. “But, I’m fair, Kurtsie, aren’t I? So after I wrap this up, I’m going to let you wrap your lips around my dick, my gorgeous cock whore.”

 

With one last painful blow to the center of Kurt’s ass, he sat up his sniffling wife, complete with half hard erection.  Kurt had begun grinding against his lap sometime during his punishment, and Blaine could only laugh at the semi-guilty/semi-aroused look on his face. Blaine adored his wife.

 

And as Kurt pushed the ottoman out of the way to fall to his knees in front of Blaine, a devilishly hungry look on his face as he pulled down the zipper with his teeth, Blaine could only tilt his head back and sigh.

 

This was the good life.

 

The End!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a lot of work, but definitely worth it. There will not be a sequel as far as I am planning so far, but maybe someday. Thank you to the lovely OP and my ladybug who wouldn’t let me go to sleep until I wrapped this up. I tried to fit in as many bonuses as I could, but I couldn’t bear to have my darling Kurt in an unhappy marriage for any amount of time. I hope you will take my infidelity side story as a peace offering for sort of butchering that part of the prompt.


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